King For A Day
by levele3
Summary: When a rising football star, and part-time Drag Queen, goes missing Sherlock and John are forced to go undercover at a Drag Club to see if they can find him only to find out he's not the only queen whose gone missing recently. Can they solve the case before another queen disappears?
1. Silk and Satin

A/N: I do not own BBC Sherlock, the BBC does. Along with Steven Moffat, Mark Gattis, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  
This is not a song fic but the title is taken from a song. King for a Day- by Green Day. This is impart inspired by my own fic "Funny Girls" and while their are some similarities and cross references it is not necessary to read one before reading the other, or at all, in fact. "Funny Girls" is an AU this is a case fic that if it were to go in the episode canon would fit somewhere in the summer before they met Irene Adler, late July to mid August. There is also a quick reference to this fic in my other story "The World's a Stage."

* * *

"King for a day, princess by dawn.  
King for a day in a leather thong.  
King for a day, princess by dawn.  
Just wait 'til all the guys get a load of me" –Green Day

23:38 hrs.

Sherlock was running at full speed in pursuit of their suspect, desperately ignoring the awkward gait caused by his missing shoe. He had lost that when? Probably when he had had to jump that fence, he answered himself. Damn, those shoes had been expensive. He had hoped to put minimal wear on them with the thought of being able to return them.

A steady rhythm of "_thump, thump, thump_" let him know John wasn't too far behind but he dared not look back to confirm it. His target was so close.

Sherlock reached down mid-stride and pulled his other shoe off. He tried not to wince at the sound of fabric tearing. This was it, the last projectile Sherlock possessed. He brought the shoe up and eyed the sharp edge of the heel with a powerful toss he sent the blue velvet pump sailing through the air and watched triumphantly as it hit its mark.

Earlier that night:

20:30 hrs.

Sherlock was tapping his patent leather clad foot against the floor in the living room of 221B. Seated at the sofa he was trying and failing to not fidget. The piece of silk twisting between his fists was being mauled to death. It had been expensive. It had _all_ been expensive. It wasn't too late; he could still change his mind, call Lestrade and explain. Yes it was that easy and there would still be plenty of time to return it all too the Shoppe's. Sherlock stood up, then, promptly sat back down.

What was he thinking? It most defiantly _was_ too late. John was already upstairs getting ready. Sherlock shook his head in slow defeat. Wait, _John_, he hadn't heard anything from upstairs in some time now. What if he had changed _his_ mind? Sherlock looked at the ceiling like it might hold all the answers, but it doesn't.

"_Thump, thump, thump_" and then suddenly it does. Sherlock lets out a ragged breath. He almost smiles at the thought of John walking around his room, getting used to the shoes, even if he's a bit graceless about the whole affair. Sherlock listened to John walk around his room for about a minute as he adjusted. Across the hardwood floor, over the rug, and back over the floor again. Sherlock only realised he had stopped tapping his foot when it started again, damn. Then he heard John open his bedroom door and Sherlock inhaled.

"Shit." He heard John hiss from the top of the stairs. Sherlock nearly face-palmed _stupid_, _stupid_ he chided himself, the stairs! John hadn't thought about how he'd get down the stairs. Sherlock strained his ears waiting for John's shout of "not coming" or angry footsteps heading back into his room, neither happened. Instead it was a tentative and uneven "_thump, th-thump_" that met Sherlock's ears as John hobbled his way down the stairs. 'Good God', Sherlock thought, 'he must be coming down the stairs sideways, no doubt clinging to the banister.' Sherlock was half tempted to look to confirm his suspicion but no need, soon enough they would both have to make their way down the seventeen steps that lead to the front door. Well they'd just have to cross that bridge when they got there.

…..

John enters the living room on unsteady legs. He contemplates sitting down but doesn't know if he has the energy to make it back out of his chair if he does. Sherlock is sitting on the sofa and he hasn't so much as glanced at John.

"Well, what do you think?" John prompts sticking his arms out to either side and doing a slow turn. There is still no sign of life from Sherlock.

Sherlock, John notices has on a straight black wig that falls well past his shoulders, with a lengthy fringe that cuts almost too even across his brow line. He is wearing a matte red satin dress and the hairless expanse of pale legs holds John's attention a moment too long. He notices Sherlock twitch from the attention. The back of the dress has a large vee cut out from it but thankfully has a swath of black lace to obscure Sherlock's back. Sherlock's high cheeks are a dusty rose and his lips a light pink, to offset the dark shade of the dress, John assumes. A black silk scarf is being murdered in a death grip that has Sherlock's knuckles turning white.

John brought his searching gaze back to Sherlock's bare knee.

"It's not as short as it looks" Sherlock comments, tugging at the hem of his dress. "It's only because I'm sitting down." Sherlock still hasn't made any attempt to even look in John's direction and promptly looks to the window. It isn't fast enough though and John notices when Sherlock's cheek reddens. Sherlock starts tapping his foot again, and that's when John's attention is brought to Sherlock's feet, and the closed toe shoes that grace them.

"Sherlock" John starts cautiously, "what are you wearing on your feet?" a dangerous edge was creeping into his voice with every word.

For a moment Sherlock visibly stills, he knew this was coming but still, he wiggles his foot in John's direction, "Oh, you mean these?" he asks, a hint of playfulness in his voice as he cocks his head back, finally looking at John. "They're called Marry Jane's; I'm rather partial to the name, aren't you?" Sherlock lets his eyelashes fall almost completely shut. Turning to look at John was a mistake.

John's silent rage was hiding just beneath the surface; "Sherlock if I have to wear these" pointing to the four inch high silver platforms strapped to his own feet, "then you have to wear heels as well." Sherlock watched John's blonde ringleted wig sway dangerously with every shake of his head.

John had had work today so Sherlock had been the one to pick out their outfits for the evening. Sherlock looking to stick out and make a statement had gone with a deep red dress for himself but John who looked more at home in wool sweaters was a particular challenge. In the end Sherlock had gone with a baby-blue knee length dress in Chiffon, sparkling silver platforms, and a short sleeved shrug to match the shoes.

"Oh please," said Sherlock standing and striding over to John "I'm taller than you on a good day." He scoffed. "Even in those" he mirrored John's movement of pointing at the shoes "your nose still only comes to my chin." He raised his eyebrows daring John to call him wrong.

"Don't care, find some pumps or I'm going back upstairs and taking everything off." John said with a note of finality and to prove his point started tugging at the shrug covering his shoulders.

"Ok, fine, NO, stop, fine. I planned for this." Sherlock huffed. He turned and marched back over to the bags in which he had brought home the clothes in and pulling out a third shoe box triumphantly raised out a pair of blue velvet pumps.

"Kitten Heels?" John asked.

"Oh God, is that what their called?" Sherlock makes a face at the shoes as if they'd personally insulted him "and when did we start naming foot wear after felines?"

In no time Sherlock has slipped out of the flats and into the heels. "Ready?" he asks looking back to John.

John hasn't stopped to wonder why Sherlock put up relatively no fuss over changing his shoes or why indeed he bought two pairs for himself in the first place. Oddly enough the dark blue looks okay with the red of the dress. John only hopes they don't have to do any running tonight; where John's platforms have a neat little buckle around his ankle, Sherlock's do not.

By some miracle they make it down the steps, out the door, and into a cab.


	2. Sugar and Spice

"Sugar and spice and everything nice  
Wasn't made for only girls  
GI Joe in panty hose is making room  
For the one and only" - Green Day

Naturally this was all for a case.

A rising football star had recently gone off the grid after someone found out his dirty secret. The secret being he liked to relax after a stressful practice or losing a game by dressing up in drag and heading out for a few drinks. After three days with no contact his closest friends and family members had assumed he'd needed a few days to himself in hopes the whole thing would blow over, but by the end of the week his wife having still heard nothing filed a missing person's report with New Scotland Yard. Somehow the report had made its way to Lestrade's desk.

The case turned promising after a search of his belongings turned up a napkin for a drag club called Funny Girls. The napkin had a phone number and a lipstick print on it. It was decided they would have to send in some undercover operatives and when John called Lestrade begging for a case to give Sherlock something to do, he dumped it on them.

On the cab ride over to the club Sherlock continued to brief John on their goals for the evening. They were aiming to make this a one night deal. The man was either there of his own free will or he wasn't there at all and would only re-emerge in his own good time. Officially he had only been missing a week, and as far as anyone could tell he had good reasons to be hiding.

"You can call me Shirley and I'll call you Joan." Sherlock finished.

"What?"

"You heard me, I'm not repeating myself." Sherlock said, turning to look out the window.

"I heard you, yeah, but shouldn't we have names like, 'Ivana Humpalot' or 'Pussy Galore'?" John tried to laugh it off but blushed furiously anyway.

"We are not prostitutes, John, have some self-respect." Sherlock snapped "besides only performers have names like that."

"Well can't I at least pick my own name?" John asked, not really caring, just trying to make a point.

"Alright, fine, but if I forget it you only have yourself to blame."

The cab was silent for some minutes when John finally said "Lola."

"Hmm?" was the reply

"_Lola_" John repeated, "I want you to call me, Lola."

"Fine" Sherlock huffed.

21:00 hrs.

The club actually had a cozy feeling to it, as though everyone was welcomed. The walls were a rustic red and cream that swirled together in soothing patterns. A gorgeous Mahogany bar ran along the left side of the room and a few of the leather topped bar stools were occupied. Looking straight ahead John saw a lounge area with plush looking love seats and chaises. Beyond the lounge area was the dance floor, which rested at the foot of the stage. The right side of the room was taken up by the dining area which mostly consisted of small round tables with two to four high backed chairs placed around each one.

The club didn't serve a full menu but one could order a select number of appetizers. About four of the twenty or so tables had people hanging around them. The largest group caught John's attention, about six women in their twenties were huddled around two of the high tables, and one was wearing an oversized button with "BRIDE" printed on it. The night was young and John thought Funny Girls was a poor choice for the ladies to begin their evening out, but at this hour it didn't charge cover and the drinks were reasonably priced. If the girls stayed long enough John knew they'd have a Hen Night to remember.

"That's the owner, over there" Sherlock whispered in his ear pointing to man dressed in a fine Armani suit lounging on a chaise, a pretty woman on either side of him. "Michael Hunt."

"Come on" Sherlock hissed, giving John a push in the direction of the bar.

John stumbled a bit then regained his balance and walked as gracefully as he could to the bar and managed to take a seat on one of the high bar stools with minimal difficulties.

"What's your poison?" the young man behind the bar asked.

John opened his mouth to reply, ready to order a pint of his preferred larger but was abruptly cut off by Sherlock.

"Two Sex on the Beach, virgin please." He said, pitching his voice high so it came out sounding vaguely feminine.

The bartender smiled knowingly and set to work mixing the drinks.

Sherlock answered John's glare "may I remind you _Lola_ we are on the job, can't have you getting drunk now can we?"

John continued to glare, but didn't protest when Sherlock paid for both their drinks and took a begrudging sip. It tasted good. It would taste better with alcohol in it.

21:20hrs.

John hummed along tunelessly to the low elevator music that was emitting from the clubs sound system, as he sipped at his drink. Tonight was karaoke night at the club. There would be no elaborate show pieces tonight but anyone was welcome to request a song they fancied having a go at. John assumed this was at least part of the reason the girls were still here. The club had filled up some more and a man in baggy black track-pants and neon t-shirt was on stage setting up the required equipment. John checked his mobile for the time, ten minutes until karaoke was due to start.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and a piece of paper with a number on it from his hand bag. "I'm going to call the number and see if any phones ring." Sherlock explained. This was a good idea, the club was still relatively quiet and despite the addition of patrons, sparse enough that between the two of them they could spot someone checking their phone. John watched as Sherlock entered the number and hit the 'dial' button, he turned around and scanned the crowd.

Nothing. Nothing. There. Michael Hunt had pulled his mobile from his trousers' pocket. He frowned at it and Sherlock hit 'end call'. Mr. Hunt laid his phone to rest on his leg but didn't put it away.

"Did you see what I saw?" Sherlock asked John, already knowing the answer.

"If you saw a man checking his mobile when it rang only to see a number he didn't recognize then yes, I believe I did." John smiled and took another sip of his drink, maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Quite."

…..

The first person to take the stage was an elderly man; John figured he had to be in his seventies. The man's naturally silvered hair was permed in tight curls and a plain silver chain hung around his neck. He wore a floor length midnight blue evening gown and almost brought John to tears with his rendition of Frank Sentara's _My Way_.

When the man had first taken the stage Mr. Hunt's arm candy had left him and Sherlock had made his move. John wasn't sure where Sherlock had learned to sway his hips like that but knew a few women who could do with the lessons.

"Mr. Hunt?" Sherlock asked coming to stand directly in front of the man. He was using his false feminine voice again, really playing it up; after all he had spent hours practicing.

Sherlock watched as the man gave him the once over and tried not to shiver at the feeling of disgust building up inside him.

"Hello gorgeous. Where did you come from?" Mr. Hunt said finally bringing his eyes all the way up to Sherlock's.

"Ah, a friend told me about your club, said I might be able to get some work here. When are you holding auditions next?" Sherlock was trying to be shy and confident at the same time, shy at meeting what a 'normal' person would perceive to be a relatively attractive middle-aged man, yet confident in his own abilities to perform well enough to be hired, granted the opportunity.

"Tell you what, you sit here and have a drink with me," he patted the empty spot beside him, "we'll chat a bit, and I'll let you know." Hunt's voice had taken on a flirtatious tone and a lecherous leer had settled on his face.

Sherlock sat down on the chaise making sure to leave space between him and Hunt, but it was futile. The minute he was seated Hunt slid over closer wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulder.

"Mr. Hunt" Sherlock began to protest but was cut off.

"Please, call me Mike." He said with another greasy smile. 'God how did women stand it, being flirted at like this', Sherlock thought. John obviously had better methods.

"Now, what can I call you, sweetheart?"

…..

After the aged queen two of the Hen Night crew got up and did Spice Girls _Stop_, which John had hummed along to. That was followed by a young guy in a mini skirt, with ripped stockings and knee high boots who sang along to Cher's version of _Love Hurts_. He left the stage in tears, not because he had been bad, John had actually been impressed with his vocals, more likely because he was going through a break up. John had just finished his second drink and was beginning to feel the need to pee. He looked around for any sign of Sherlock and saw that he was still sitting next to Hunt. Well at least maybe he was getting somewhere with the investigation.

John shimmied off the stool and made his way to the back corner, left of the stage, where the sign for the loo hung. Upon reaching the doors John had a moment of panic, which one was he supposed to use? Technically he was a 'gent' but at the moment he looked like a lady. Did it even matter in a place like this? John shrugged his shoulder and took a chance pushing open the door to the gents.

It was the wrong choice.

Seated on the counter top was the youth in the mini skirt and stockings, his legs were wrapped around the bartender who had poured his and Sherlock's first drinks. Their tongues were in each other's mouths and the bartender's hand was on the youth's knee and sliding up toward the hem of the skirt. John closed his eyes and let the loo door shut. He hoped desperately to vanquish the images from his mind but he couldn't un-see it.

John knocked softly on the door labeled 'ladies' and when he didn't hear any protests opened the door and went in. Thank goodness it was empty, he really had to pee, and checking his reflection in the mirror, noted, re-apply his lipstick.


	3. Leather and Lace

A/N: For my shameless references to Cabin Pressure props goes to John Finnemore.  
If you have not yet listened to Cabin Pressure you should, it's really great.

* * *

"Her name was Lola,

she was a show girl

with yellow feathers in her hair

and dress cut down to there."– Barry Manilow

John was leaning over the sink getting as close to the mirror as possible. He had seen enough of his girlfriends do this to know proximity was key. Steadying his hand he let the tube of lipstick glide across his upper lip.

"They're playing_ your_ song." Sherlock's deep baritone rumbled.

"Shit Sherlock!" John said clutching at his chest, "you can't do that to people."

"Apparently, I can" was his smug reply as he leaned back against the counter. John looked back to the mirror with a frown.

"Damn" he hissed. He had been so focused on applying the colour to his bottom lip he hadn't even heard Sherlock enter and now a thick red line ran down his chin.

Now that his concentration had been broken John could indeed hear the faint notes belonging to The Kinks _Lola_. John hummed along as he gathered some paper towel and wet it. Sherlock flipped through his phone as John dabbed at his chin. Wait-

"Shh-Early" said John catching himself, "whose phone is that?"

"Mike's" Sherlock replied without looking up.

"Mike who?" John's brow furrowed.

"Hunt. _Mr_. Hunt. Its Hunt's phone" Sherlock spat out suddenly flustered.

"You're on a first name basis with the owner of a _drag club_?" John inquired, his recently plucked eyebrows disappearing under the curly fringe of his wig.

"Problem?" Sherlock inquired.

"Nope" John shook his head; he would never understand why Sherlock did the things he did.

"Something is not right here, _Lola_, I can tell. I'm starting to build a theory but we need more facts. We should ask around see if anyone else has gone missing."

"You think Hunt's involved?" John asked still swiping absently at his chin. All he's managed to do is make the whole thing red. He sighed in defeat.

"Could be" Sherlock shrugged. "He only bought this place three months ago. The previous owner ran a tight ship but Hunt's records are lacking. Here let me." Sherlock took a small bottle of make-up remover and cotton pad out of his purse. He soaked the pad and taking John's chin in his long violist fingers began dabbing at the red mess as he continued to explain his theory.

"Attendance to the club has gone down since Hunt took over therefore his income should have gone down and yet he's still making enough to cover rent and other operational fees. I've been scanning the records on his phone and I just don't know where the money is coming from."

Sherlock had finished cleaning off John's chin and binned the pad. "You missed a spot." He added cheekily pointing out the half of John's bottom lip not covered in red gloss.

"Thanks. I hadn't noticed." John replied sarcastically turning his attention back to the mirror to finish the job.

"Ask around; see what you can find out. Well meet up again in say, half-an-hour? I have to get this back to Mike before he notices it's missing." Sherlock wiggled the phone in his hand, winking as he exited the door.

John turned to give himself the once over in the mirror. 'Damn' he thought, 'if I _were_ a lady I'd date me.' Then he noticed his breasts were sagging, he pulled on the bra strap until it made a satisfying _snap_ against his shoulder and his 'breasts' were more on par. Sherlock had come up with the rather brilliant idea of filling balloons with Jell-O and they fit neatly in the cups of the cheap bras he had picked up. Because they had poured the Jell-O into the balloons while it was still liquid and then set it in the fridge they held a nice firm shape. The left over Cherry Jell-O still sat in a bowl in the fridge.

When John exited the loo _his_ song was over and two blokes were up singing along to Monty Pythons _I'm a Lumber Jack,_ one had reddish-brown hair tied back in one long braid that nearly reached his bottom, he had on short-shorts, western style boots, a checkered crop top showed off his navel, and a straw Stetson donned his head. His partner wore a self-made red and black plaid flannel dress that stopped just shy of his knees with plain black heels. 'Bride' was up on stage between them, and they had their arms around each other's necks doing line kicks.

John surveyed the room looking for a good person to interview.

22:32hrs.

"Got anything?" John asked as Sherlock approached him. John had claimed one of the little tables in the corner to himself.

"Yes, you?" Sherlock asked taking a seat opposite.

"Yes. Had a lovely chat with a fellow named Sinderelle, that's S-I-N, he gave me this" John said holding up a picture for Sherlock to see. "Marcus Williams, 38, goes by the name 'Minnie.' He's been missing for over a month. Some of the regulars thought he found somewhere else to dance after Hunt took over." In the picture Marcus was wearing an orange sleeveless dress that set off his dark skin, and showed off his muscular arms. He wore his hair in a very 70's style afro. "Who've you got?"

"Martin Crieff, aka 'Gertie,' 31. He was reported missing two days ago by his mother who lives in Wokingham. He is the owner of a small moving company and when he didn't show up for one of his clients they called to complain only instead of reaching Crieff they got his mother. She's been worried sick ever since."

"How the blazes did you find out all that?" John was amazed he knew Sherlock was good but-

"I ran into his sister Caitlyn, she took a couple days off to come down and see if she could find him." Sherlock pointed his thumb in the direction of a very troubled looking woman who was arguing with a man in a bouncers outfit. She was being kicked out of the club for asking too many questions.

Sherlock's phone pinged and looked down to see he had received a new multi-media message.

It showed a picture of a man dressed in a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans leaning up against a white van with a logo painted on the side 'Icarus Removals' framed by a set of golden wings. A pair of aviator shades covered most of his face. His most distinguishing feature was the sprig of curly orange hair atop his head. A quick message underneath said '_please find him.'-CC_

"Crieff?"

"It appears so. He must me quite short." Sherlock mused.

"How can you tell?"

"The angle the photo was taken, it's to make him look taller, but look how far he comes up to on the van."

"Not very" John noted.

"No." Sherlock agreed.

"So, three people, who all have connections to the same club, go missing within a few weeks of a new owner taking over." John summarized.

"Yes. Either they all saw something they shouldn't have or-"

"Or they're being held against their will." John finished.

"Oh, of course!" Sherlock experienced a mini A-ha moment. "Downstairs."

"Downstairs?"

"Downstairs."

"This place has a downstairs?" John asked.

"When I was sitting with Hunt earlier a staff member asked him if it was okay to show someone the merchandise they kept downstairs. I didn't think anything of it at the time, thought it might be old costumes or something like that but what if-"

"If it's people, like human trafficking or-?" John continued his line of thought.

"Or an illegal sex trade, with unwilling participants." Sherlock finished.

Sherlock surveyed the room looking for anywhere a hidden door might be, _well_, hidden.

"The dressing room" he hissed suddenly.

"The dressing room?"

"Yes, it's the only place in this building where a door could be leading to a lower level but-"

Looking around John came to the same conclusion "But the only door to the dressing room is from the stage."

"Precisely" a wicked grin crossed his face, "well Lola what do you say?"

"Oh no, don't look at me, Shirley."

"I need you to create a diversion so I can sneak into the dressing room. Do you want to save these people or not?"

John's gaze fell again to the stage where the Daisy Duke Wannabe was up singing along to the Proclaimers _500 Miles_. John knew he was defeated; there was no point in even thinking up an argument.

Sherlock must have seen the look of consent on John's face because he clapped his shoulder and said in his encouraging voice "I've heard you sing in the shower, you'll be grand."

…..

"Bride" John discovered was a 25 year-old petite brunet named Ashleigh who was getting married in two days' time. She was out with her two sisters and three friends who would all be standing for her. They were having a truly fantastic time. John had eased into their conversation using his natural charm and luck with women.

"I was wondering if you'd like to do a song with me?" John asked shyly, he hadn't bothered with pitching his voice but was aiming for an air of modesty. "I saw you up there earlier and it looked like fun."

"You're new to this aren't you?" She asked with a smile, then grabbing his hand and led him over to the DJ booth to pick out a song.

"What about this one?" Ashleigh asked him, again.

John had already said no to three songs and was starting to _feel_ the dirty looks Sherlock was throwing his way. He had to make a choice soon, and this was as good as any.

"Come on, you said you wanted something that would have everybody up on their feet, no one can resists dancing to this." She pleaded. She didn't mind getting up and singing with this man. He seemed nice if a little unsure of himself.

"Alright" John consented, with a nod of his head. A signal to let Sherlock know, _the game was on. _

* * *

A/N: Let the cameo's begin! I laid down what I thought were some fairly obvious hints but for those who want clarification and to know for sure the two guys singing to Monty Python are played by David Tennant and John Barrowman, Marcus/ Minnie is played by Noel Clarke who portrayed Mickey Smith on Doctor Who (Mickey=Minnie), and Martin Crieff is Benedict Cumberbatch's character on John Finnemore's Radio Play, Cabin Pressure. While his short stature is constantly referenced his hair colour is not. It is generally assumed he has Ben's natural hair colour.

Also "Bride" is based on my own Best Friend, Ashley, who is getting married later this summer. Congrats again love!


	4. Whips and Chains

"Sticks and stones

may break my bones

but whips and chains

excite me"- Rihanna

22:48hrs.

Sherlock was holding up the wall over by the bar waiting for John and the girl to _pick a song already_. Sherlock explained that it had to be something to capture everyone's attention get them up and dancing, not something that would have people focused on the stage. He was ready to go over and pick something himself when he saw John give _the nod_, it was time.

As Sherlock walked toward the stage the dance floor filled instantly with the first few note of _Love Shack_. Under normal circumstances Sherlock would have picked apart his choice but it had people up and moving, so who was he to complain.

Sherlock put his first foot on the stage stairs as they got to the line "I got me a Chrysler, it seats about 20, So come on and bring your jukebox money" and was to the other side slipping behind a curtain before they finished the chorus. Now he just had to wait for John.

…

John entered the dressing room four minutes later with a soft knock to the door, and only a little out of breath. He was immediately caught off guard by the amount of costumes that were stored there. Feathers, leather, lace, and silk assaulted his eyes at every turn and _there_ was bloody _Sherlock Holmes_ sitting in the middle of it all posed and proper, in a dress and heels no less, as though none of it affected him in the slightest. _Which it probably didn't_ John reminded himself.

"Call Lestrade?" John asked

"Not yet. We need proof first." Sherlock said standing, "I found the door though." Sherlock lead him around a corner where a plain steel door was placed ominously into the wall.

"Might as well put a sign up" John said "_place bodies here_."

Sherlock opened the door and revealed a set of steep stairs that led down.

"Can we call Lestrade now?" John prompted.

Sherlock shook his head and put his foot out into the darkness and _click_ his heel made a noise as it connected with the top step. Sherlock turned back to look at John, and nodded. John nodded back and pulled his gun out – from somewhere.

"John,-"

"Sherlock, so help me, do not think of finishing that question." John huffed. The gun had actually been attached to a leg holster John was wearing around his thigh but knew he didn't have the precious time to waste telling Sherlock about it.

…..

They made their way down the stairs with an echoing chorus of _click, thump-thump, click, thump-thump._ And John prayed there would be no one waiting for them at the bottom of the steps.

"You go left, I'll go right." Sherlock hissed when they reached the solid floor and ran into no trouble. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and used the flashlight app to give him some light in the all swallowing darkness.

"Right" John whispered back.

"No, you're left." Sherlock asserted handing John a mini torch that he pulled from the shoulder bag. How much stuff _did _Sherlock have in there?

"I know th- never mind. Shout if you find something." John said flicking on the torch and turning to his left.

John didn't have to go very far, the space wasn't huge after all. Around a bend in the wall he found them, Marcus Williams, Martin Crieff, Anthony Jones, and two other men John didn't recognize were handcuffed to large metal rings attached to the concrete wall. They were all gagged one way or another, some with pieces of cloth, others with ball gags, and blindfolded. They looked awful, but alive.

Williams was in a faded red and white polka-dot dress which had a tear up that side that looked as though it was caused by a knife. Crieff was wearing a navy blue sexy Flight Attendant's uniform with a truly enormous captain's hat with a generous amount of gold braid perched precariously atop his ginger head. Four golden bracelets hung off each of his wrists as sort of mock epaulettes, his matching navy blue hose were ripped to shreds. Anthony Jones was in a denim skirt, one his wife had cited as missing, and a silky looking pink top. The other two had clearly been here even longer than Williams; John couldn't even make out colour under the filth and grime that covered their clothes.

John cleared his voice and said loud and clear, "Shirley, I think you better come take a look at this."

Some of the men began to squirm at the new and unknown threat, as John searched for a light switch.

"It's okay, I'm here to save you. My name is John Watson, I am a doctor. My friend Shirley is a detective and we're going to get you out of here, everything's going to be fine." He explained in his calming voice.

John turned on the light then wished he hadn't. The cold harsh light illuminated the gruesome scene before him bringing it into reality. He bent down and began untying mouth gags and blind folds and the _click, click, click_ of someone jogging in heels got closer.

"You can call me Lola if it makes you feel better" said John giving a weak smile to Jones.

Sherlock rounded the corner and took in the site, he couldn't believe his eyes, alive, they were all alive that meant; "He's been forcing them to have sex with well paying customers." Sherlock said aloud without decency or thought.

"Sherlock, not now, just help me untie them so we can get them out of here." John hissed, "And call Lestrade."

Sherlock raised his mobile to do just that but, "I've got no signal John, we're underground."

"Then go back up and-" it was too late John and Sherlock looked at each other in stunned horror as voices drifted down to them from upstairs, they hadn't closed the door behind them. Whoever was up there would know someone who wasn't supposed to be down there, was.

"It's Mike Hunt!" Sherlock said.

John blinked several times, "your what?" he asked, honestly did Sherlock even listen to what he said anymore because John heard-

"Mike Hunt, he's the one behind all this, isn't he?" he turned to the prisoners looking for conformation but they were still dazed from being recused and now having their hopes torn away again.

"I don't think his parents liked him much." John inputted trying to cover a smirk.

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asked a look of confusion covering his face.

"It's in the name." John explained and he watched as Sherlock, brow furrowed, silently mouth Mike Hunt over and over again.

John rubbed his hand over his face and listened as the people coming down the stairs got closer and closer. They had come so close and now if they were lucky he and Sherlock would become sex slaves as well, if they weren't they would die in this stone cold room and probably condemn the five men they had tried to save to the same fate.

The sound of boots got louder and just as three larger than average men and Michael Hunt rounded the corner Sherlock's penny dropped "Mike Hunt" he laughed out loud, "John when you say it really fast it sounds like My-"

"Sherlock duck!" John yelled as he swung a punch at the man who had been sneaking up behind him. John had set his gun down to untie the prisoners; it was now lying uselessly on the ground.

Sherlock ducked and swung low attacking the man in the sensitive spot behind his knees. The man went down, hard, and knocked himself out when his head hit the floor.

Sherlock put his boxing skills to use on the next thug while John turned to the other. Hunt had turned and fled after the first hired muscle went down so easy. John and Sherlock attacked the men furiously but it was zapping their strength.

Shit, they didn't have time for this song and dance.

Then two shots rang out in the tight space and everyone held their breaths. The two thugs fell to the floor and John turned around to see Anthony Jones holding a smoking gun in his hand, stunned look on his face. He had shot the two lumps of muscle in their knee caps, bringing them down hard. They were on the floor howling in pain clutching their blooded legs.

John went to look back at Sherlock, but the man was already gone, chasing after Hunt.

John took the soiled rags used to gag the queens and stuffed them in the mouths of the wounded men to keep _them_ quiet for a change.

"Don't worry we're going to get you guys out of here, I promise!" John said "I'm going to go upstairs and call Detective Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. He should be here in no time. They'll find the keys or bring crowbars, anything to get you guys out I promise. The men all simply nodded too parched from lack of water to speak.

"I have to go after my friend, I have to." John said taking a frantic pace across the floor and up the steps. He was glad the platforms were secured to his feet with little buckles.

….

Sherlock pushed his legs for all they were worth. As soon as the bullets went off he was gone. The heels had slipped as he ran through a puddle of blood but he pulled through and bounded up the steeps he could still hear Hunts shoes on the stairs above him in the darkness.

People screamed as the two men burst out onto the stage in the middle of an act, Hunt's look of panic at being found out and Sherlock's murderous rage of being in pursuit of a criminal was enough to scare anyone off. Crossing the stage Sherlock pulled one of the Jell-O filled balloons out of his bra and through it in Hunt's direction trying to hamper the man's escape, it missed. Hunt was almost to the door when Sherlock through his second balloon, but the other man was too quick and Sherlock's projectile hit an incoming patron straight in the face.

…..

When John came up the stairs it was to chaos and panic, and Cherry Jell-O all over the floor. John almost collided into Ashleigh as he slipped through a pile of the stuff.

"Oh my God, Lola, you should have seen it these guys just-"

"Yes, I know" he panted, he hated cutting her off but he needed to know; "which way"

"They went out the door, left I think."

"Great, I need you to do something for me." John gave her Lestrade's personal number. "Call him, tell him to go downstairs there he'll find what he's looking for. Then John was out the door and after his crazy friend.


	5. Short and Sweet

23:38 hrs.

Sherlock was running at full speed in pursuit of their suspect, desperately ignoring the awkward gait caused by his missing shoe. He had lost that when? Probably when he had had to jump that fence, he answered himself. Damn, those shoes had been expensive. He had hoped to put minimal wear on them with the thought of being able to return them.

A steady rhythm of "_thump, thump, thump_" let him know John wasn't too far behind but he dared not look back to confirm it. His target was so close.

Sherlock reached down mid-stride and pulled his other shoe off. He tried not to wince at the sound of fabric tearing. This was it, the last projectile Sherlock possessed. He brought the shoe up and eyed the sharp edge of the heel with a powerful toss he sent the blue velvet pump sailing through the air and watched triumphantly as it hit its mark.

Hunt went down, face first on the sidewalk clutching at the back of his head.

"Do you have _any_ idea how much those pumps cost me." Sherlock huffed out between ragged breaths, his chest heaving from his late night sprint. He came to stand over Hunt letting his shadow fall across the man. "That was for you touching me with your filthy hands." He spat.

…

John was running double time trying desperately to make up the gaping distance between him and Sherlock. He was almost there; just ahead he could hear the click of Sherlock's heels. Then he ran into a fence. John pulled himself up and over thankful for the added height the platforms gave him. Upon landing though John stumbled over something. He picked up the item and discovered it to be one of Sherlock's pumps. Not wanting to linger on the fact Sherlock was now running around London, barefoot John took off at a neck breaking pace, the shoe still clutched firmly in his grasp.

When Sherlock and John got back to the club with Hunt an ambulance and two police cars were sitting out front. The two unknowns as well as Williams and Crieff had already been taken to the hospital. Jones sat at the edge of the ambulance, an orange blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his wife stood next to him.

John shoved an already handcuffed Hunt at Lestrade and Lestrade threw him in the back of the car. Sherlock sat down on the back of the ambulance next to Jones and began rubbing at his bare and bloodied feet. He had walked the whole way back with no shoes on.

"Here" said John kneeling down in front of his friend once his feet were cleaned, "put these on so we can go home." John slid the velvet blue pumps onto Sherlock's feet one at a time. Somewhere in the distance the Clock Tower chimed midnight.

"I can't wait to read about this one on your blog, John." said Sherlock smugly.

"Me either" Lestrade intervened.

"Ha-ha. Very funny guys, but I think I'll skip this one. My heterosexuality suffered enough for one night, don't you think?" John was leaning against the side of the ambulance utterly exhausted.

"You shouldn't say things like that." Jones said. It was the first time he spoke since they'd returned and it took a minute for John to register his voice.

"I'm hetero I just like dressing up in women's clothes sometimes." He explained, "You shouldn't be so quick to judge others."

"I- I'm sorry" John apologized, "I didn't mean to offend you, it's just been a long night. You're lucky to have someone as kind and understanding as your wife. Not everyone might be so." John shifted his eyes to Sherlock who still sat dangling his legs over the edge.

"You've got a tear in your dress" Jones suddenly said to Sherlock.

John looked at the slit that now ran up the length of the short dress a good portion of Sherlock's pale thigh was now visible, but the tear was nothing compared to the blood stains. Both of their dresses were ruined. John vaguely wondered how much money he would owe Sherlock. If there was one thing John knew well it was women, and knowing women, meant knowing brand names. Sherlock had purchased some very pricey numbers.

"It's not fair," Jones wife said suddenly in the lull.

"What's not?" John asked

"He looks better in that skirt than I ever did." She confessed, and they all laughed.

…..

Later, when they were walking home, after Lestrade had taken some photos he promised on his life to never show anyone, ever John let out a little laugh.

He waited a bit, but when Sherlock didn't bite he voiced his humours thought.

"I've thought up a last name for you." He said.

"John, I have a last name." Sherlock was tired; he didn't have time for this silly game.

"No sorry, you're right, _you do_, but _Shirley_ doesn't."

"Go on; let's hear it then, if you think it's all that clever."

"Swallows." said John, doing a damn good job of keeping a straight face.

"Swallows?" Sherlock repeated. "I don't get it."

"Shirley Swallows, surely- never mind."


	6. Epilogue: Kings and Queens

Three weeks later:

John was running a little late. He rushed around looking for his cleanest pair of jeans and button up top. Tonight was the re-re- grand opening of Funny Girls, and Jones, who was making his debut had sent an e-mail along to John inviting him to come to the show for free as a thank-you. Not wishing to appear ungrateful, he accepted. Sherlock was lounging on their sofa, his blue house coat wrapped tightly around him. Either Sherlock hadn't been invited, declined, or accepted and forgot. That was fine with John he was just as happy to go alone.

"Going out for a bit, don't wait up." John said as he rushed passed and headed for the door, shoes in hand. The lump on the sofa only grunted in reply.

When John entered Funny Girls three performers were already on stage singing and dancing along to a catchy re-mix of _Wild Thing_. They each had on long platinum blonde wigs, white knee high Go-go boots and colour blocked Mod Dresses.

John made his way to the bar and sitting down ordered a drink. Looking around he was pleased to note almost every seat in the place was filled and many more people were up and moving to the beat. The lounge area was full and people were even standing along the far wall just to be in the room. When the _Wild Thing_ girls finished there was a thunderous applause and they bowed several times before heading to the stage door.

Next emerged someone John recognized, it was the Daisy Duke Wannabe, only tonight his long hair hung in loose curls around his shoulders and he had traded the western look for a tight fitting Nurse costume. His partner followed him out on to the stage in an equally tight camouflage patterned dress with a long WWII coat over top. Together they sang _You're still the one_ by Shania Twain, and then camouflage stayed on stage to do _I am what I am_ solo.

John was thoroughly engrossed in the performance when a voice cut through.

"Aren't you worried about the preservation of your sexuality?" a deep baritone rumbled behind him, it made John's lip quirk up in a half smile.

"Aren't you worried about your, lack of?" John replied.

"Touché" Sherlock said taking a seat on the stool behind John.

"Actually I did have one bloke ask me to dance" John confided

"Oh?"

John didn't turn around to look but he could hear Sherlock's eyebrow rise in the pitch of his voice. "I had to politely decline though." John said in mock regret.

"What" Sherlock snorted, "didn't like the colour of his dress?"

John shook his head, "Nah," he said turning around "he had some stubble, it put me off. I like my date's clean shaven."

Sherlock rubbed absently at his own smooth chin.

"So, any ideas on who the new owner is?" John asked curiosity getting the better of him. The club looked the same as it had three weeks ago, same paint, same stools, mostly the same staff, and yet it felt different inside. It didn't just look warm and inviting, it felt like it. A safe haven where people could be whoever they wanted, and share that person with the world.

"No, none" Sherlock's voice had a faint note of surprise to it as if even he couldn't believe someone would buy the club after what they had discovered there.

Sherlock was wearing a pair of just pressed dress trousers and a purple dress shirt John had never seen before was buttoned up tightly across Sherlock's chest.

"New shirt?" John commented before taking a sip of his drink.

"Yes" Sherlock's reply was deep and slow as if he were explaining a complicated phenomenon to a very small child.

"I like it. It's nice" John said with sincerity.

"Thank you." Sherlock forced out the words one at a time and scrunched his nose as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

"What are you drinking?" Sherlock asked, changing the subject.

"Dry Vodka Martini with a lemon twist, shaken, not stirred." John had done something funny with his voice, then Sherlock realised he was attempting to impersonate Sean Connery.

When the bartender walked by Sherlock told the man, "I'll have what he's having."

…

John looked across the crowded room where he saw Jones' wife sitting with a number of his teammates. She turned her head just slightly and for a moment their eyes held. The look showed her thanks for them coming out to support her husband. She gave a little smile and turned back to her companions.

Looking around a little more John spotted Gertie in his same old Flight Attendant's uniform. He was seated with two older women, one of whom _had_ to be his mother, his sister and three other blokes. One, John decided, must be Crieff's brother because he had the same nose as him and his sister. Of the other two men John wasn't sure, one was much older probably in his fifties the other couldn't have been more than thirty and was possibly the son of the other woman. He kept touching hands with Crieff then blushing furiously, would look away.

After two more performers, one of who was Minnie, wearing a new red and white polka-dot dress, Jones finally took the stage. He was dressed in a canary yellow 1920's flapper dress with a matching yellow and black feather boa. He put on a truly heartwarming performance to ABBA's _Dancing Queen_ which was greeted with a standing ovation.

After another martini, and a few more sets, including a performance by Gertie and her two male companions they sang and did a dance to _Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines,_ John was ready to leave when suddenly the stage was full of nearly all of the evening's performers. Jones was center stage giving a little thank you speech.

"Last, but not least, I'd like to thank Lola and Shirley without whom I would not be here tonight. If you're in the house I'd really like you guys to come up here for this."

John turned to Sherlock, "that's us." He hissed.

"I know." Sherlock replied.

"What do we do?"

"Remember to smile, have fun." Sherlock made a shooing motion at John.

"Oh no, not that again." John said rising from his chair, "If I'm going up there, you're coming with me."

John's strong hand gripped around Sherlock's wrist and pulled him up and towards the stage.

….

Sherlock allowed John to drag him across the floor. A spotlight highlighting their progress towards the stage and ensemble cast. As they squeezed between the people Sherlock imagined Mycroft sitting in a plush chair somewhere watching the surveillance cameras for the club. The thought made him smile; he would make sure his brother got his money's worth.

They were nearing the steeps when Queen's _We are the Champions_ began to play.

"We are the champions, my friends,  
And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end.  
We are the champions.  
We are the champions." -Queen

* * *

A/N:Thank-you so much for sticking through this epic with me, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Additional references I do not own belong to James Bond/ Ian Fleming and When Harry Met Sally. I will probably be adding a thing with "missing scenes" so keep an eye out for that. Just some stuff I wanted to write but couldn't actually fit in the story.

watch?v=U7_TOY0XSR4 this is the version of Wild Thing I have the dancer's dancing to.


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